A Laird for All Time (12 page)

A
footman delivered a medical bag to Emmy’s room late that afternoon.  She had jumped when the knock sounded, thinking that Connor had come to barrage her senses and sensibility once again.  She told herself that she was not disappointed when it was only the delivery of the case.  In actuality, it was more of a small square suitcase, hard sided with two buckle closures. Curiosity overriding dissatisfaction, she opened it up and sorted the items on the bed.  Most looked familiar, she thought thankfully, though she realized it was more of a surgical bag than one for everyday medical calls.  There were various clamps and forceps as well as several scalpels. Though made of steel, all had brass fittings and wooden handles that were more decorative than utilitarian. There was also stethoscope, an orthopedic hammer, bandages with a spool of wire, some thread and two packets of needles.  Lifting the tray underneath, Emmy found a tourniquet, small auger and a hacksaw.

Emmy shuddered as she put the tray back in place.  Amputations. 
Before modern medicine, infections had often led to gangrene and eventually amputation.  She certainly didn’t want to wield the saw that performed the removal of a limb.  It was part of the reason she had not chosen general surgery.  C-Section was one thing, taking a leg completely another.

Of course
, while she considered the state of medicine at this time to be horrifying and outdated, the medical community probably thought themselves to be advanced.  Perhaps they were when compared to the previous decade or two.  But Emmy knew the future; knew what the next hundred years of medical science would bring.  What they would be able to diagnose and treat without ever once cutting into a body.  Here, she might as well be figuratively banging a wooden club over someone’s head.

Thinking
about what she knew of medicine, just that knowledge alone could save lives in this time. Emmy briefly considered what she might have to offer in this time, when a simple cold might lead to an early death.  It bore consideration. 

She was repacking the bag when Margo arrived carrying
yet another gown.  Thankful for the distraction, Emmy teased, “Time to put on the steel cage again, hmm Margo? What am I wearing tonight?  Will it sing to me?”

The girl smiled at Emmy’s playful attitude.  “Aye,
milady, it will.  Actually Mr. MacLean sent it along with his thanks for helping out Mrs. MacLean this afternoon.  ‘Tis a new gown the lady had ordered before she found out about the babe and they want ye to ha’ it.”

“They didn’t need to do that,” Emmy protested.  “Dory has sent enough clothes already.”

“Mrs. MacLean said to tell that where the others were a loan, this one was to be a gift,” the maid corrected her.  She laid the gown across the bed as Emmy stared down at it. 

“
Oh, wow, it’s amazing,” she whispered in awe, reaching out to touch the froth of bead-encrusted lace that served as the sleeves.  The label said Worth and even Emmy, a hundred years away from home, knew what that meant.  “The House of Worth.”  The aqua blue velvet bodice was heavily decorated with the embroidery of silver threads and crystals.  The skirt, however, flowed freely unadorned until about a foot from the hem, where the crystal beading and embroidery resumed and did an intricate dance around the bottom of the full skirt.  “I cannot accept it,” she insisted.  “It is too much.”

“
Mrs. MacLean thought ye might say so and told me to tell ye she wouldnae follow yer instructions if ye dinnae take it.” Margo bit her lip to hide a grin as she delivered this bit of information.

“Blackmail!” Emmy accused
, wagging a finger.  “I see how she is.  Fine, I’ll wear it.  It’ll be a horrible burden, but I’ll wear it.”

The two women laughed together until Margo offered in all seriousness.  “It might
be a bit of a burden, milady.  There may be no tournure but I’ll ha’ to lace you up tighter to fit in it.”

“Now you tell me!”
Emmy complained and Margo boldly laughed again.  Emmy enjoyed the maid’s merry company.  She was about twenty and recently married to one of the castle’s footmen.  Margo was a bit rustic. She’d had little education and knew only the work she did at the castle. But she was a happy sort of girl, always cheerful, and her good moods were infectious.  “How come you don’t have to cinch yourself up all the time?” Emmy said, eying the maid’s gray dress with its lace cap and apron.

“I do
, milady,” Margo countered.  “Just nae as tightly as ye need to be to wear these gowns.  Most of the ladies are laced tighter than the staff.”

“There’s one benefit of being a working girl, I guess,” Emmy offered and Margo giggled with a nod.  “It’s just madness to be so concerned with this whole ‘proper foundations’ thing,” she continued as Margo helped her out of her daily wear and turned her to lace her tighter. 
Emmy gripped the post of the bed and pictured Mammy lacing up Scarlett O’Hara as Scarlett held on to the bedpost in
Gone With the Wind
.  “At least I know why they made beds like this now,” she grunted as she hung on tight while Margo pulled with all her might.

It was worth it, Emmy thought, to see the expression in Connor’s eyes as he watched her enter the drawing room before dinner. Interesting that she had been so angry with him just a couple of hours before, yet felt no ire now that she was once again in his company.  No hard feelings.  With a snap of his fingers, she was once again back to being putty in his presence.  It was so unlike her.

  The heat lit and flared as his gaze swept her from top to bottom.  She was glad she had
let Margo do her hair tonight.  The maid had twisted pieces this way and that, braiding others and weaving them all into an elaborate knot that covered the back of her head from crown to nape.  Emmy had twisted between two mirrors to get a look at it and was impressed with the girl’s work.  With the sophisticated hairdo combined with some rouge from Dory, and this gown, she felt like an angel drenched in diamonds rather than mere crystals.

As she made her way across the room, having eyes for no
one but him, Emmy was surprised to be stopped by Connor’s Aunt Eleanor.  The old matron pounded the floor with her cane and waved Emmy over imperiously. “Heard what you did for Dory today, my lady.”

“It was nothing,” she returned in all honesty.

The old woman sniffed and pounded her cane down once again.  “Nevertheless, well done of you. I was hoping you might be able to help with my maid.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s reaching the end of her time and will probably deliver soon,” the older woman told her as Emmy nodded in understanding.  “I was hoping you might condescend to help her when her time comes.  There hasn’t been a good midwife around here for years.”

“I am not a midwife,” Emmy
ground out through gritted teeth.  She forced herself to relax.  “But of course, I will look in on her if you like.”

“
Lovely. I would most appreciate it.”  The woman tapped her cane again as if to mark the end of the conversation.  With a nod, Emmy continued to Connor, scowling now where a moment before she had been smiling. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked
when she reached him.  “What did Eleanor say to ye?  I heard the old bag had nae seen fit to speak with ye since ye’ve been here.”

She realized that it was true
.  While she had listened in on many conversations these past several days, she had only been included in those where Dory was present.  Even then no one addressed her directly other than to greet her.  Emmy hadn’t noticed or cared, having so many other things on her mind.  “She called me a midwife,” she confessed with a sniff.

“Ye
dinnae care for that too much, do ye?” he grinned.  “I’d get used to it if I were ye.  That’s what they call a woman who delivers babies here.”

“I didn’t endure
a six-year residency to be called a midwife,” she protested emphatically.  “It’s degrading.”

“Well, as I said, get used to it.”

She snorted. “Not likely.”

He laughed out loud for the second time in as many days
. again drawing the attention of his family to him.  His aunts traded smiles with each other and looked on in approval, Emmy thought, as if it pleased them to see Connor so amused.  Perhaps if they spoke to him every once in a while, he would never have come to be in the state he had been when she arrived, she thought testily, still smarting from the midwife comment.  Why had they never taken it on themselves to save him from himself?  It boggled her mind that he was so untouchable to his own family.  Of course, she had no family remaining of her own, so perhaps she was in no position to be critical of their family dynamic.

“Ye
did not give me a chance to compliment ye on yer appearance tonight yet,” he commented.

“But you did the moment I came in,” she teased
, turning her attention to him.  “Words were not necessary.  I could tell you liked the dress.”

“It
is nae just the dress but the woman inside,” he murmured seductively raising her hand and placing a kiss on her palm, his lips lingering for a moment.  “Ye’re stunning.”

She curled her fingers around the tingling he left behind.  “Thank you.”

“Ye have not answered my question.”

“Which question was that?” she asked.

“Whether ye would ride with me.”

“Well, the afternoon is long gone, so I guess it’s too late to matter,”
Emmy responded evasively.

“Alas, there is always tomorrow,” he teased.

Emmy sighed, knowing there was no way she was going to be able to gracefully decline.  “Here’s the thing, Connor, I don’t know how to ride a horse,” she admitted.

“Nonsense, I know
verra well ye can.”  A puzzled frown wrinkled his brow.  “Perhaps ye’re merely out of practice?”

“I haven’t been on a horse since Girl Scout camp in the 5
th
grade,” she said honestly.  “So, I’m just going to say, thanks, but no thanks.”

Connor shrugged
, wanting to ask for an explanation, but not wanting to rile her up again.  “Verra well then, perhaps ye’d like to join me sailing on the sound.  I believe ye mentioned that ye had planned to do so on yer holiday.  Maryland does have boats, I believe. Ye might be more familiar with them.”

“You have a boat?”
  Emmy raised a brow in surprise as he nodded.  “Where?”

“I keep it docked in Craignure,” he told her.  “The waters here are a bit shallow for a dock and the company there keeps it in good repair.”

“How big is it?”

“She’s a
forty foot schooner.  Excellent for short trips to the mainland and comfortable enough for a lady to enjoy.  I ha’ a small crew to navigate her so ye would nae ha’ to get yer hands dirty,” he assured lest that be an issue for her.  Given her usual approach to matters, he rather doubted it, but didn’t want to take any chances. “What do ye say?”

Emmy narrowed her eyes.  “How would we get to the boat?”

“We ride, of course.” His eyes twinkled with his response.

“
Hilarious,” she muttered.  The footman finally arrived with their wine and Emmy gratefully took hers, thinking she might become an alcoholic if she stayed here too long.  A glass of red wine a night was supposed to be good for the heart, but she’d kill for a simple bottle of Dasani or better still, God help her, a Diet Coke.  Looking over the rim at Connor, she waited for a response, hoping that he was only joking.  “Well?”

He sighed mockingly and took his own drink
from the footman.  “I ha’ a comfortable carriage we can use to transport us to Craignure.”

“Then I accept
.” She brightened and raised her glass with a smile.

“I’m sure ye
will find it most enjoyable.”

“Well, I did want to get some sight-seeing in while I was here,” she reminded
him.

“Aye,
sightseeing,” he parroted.  The term was unfamiliar but self-explanatory, but again he was disturbed by the turns of speech and expressions she used when speaking.  He didn’t think it was merely the American vernacular either.  Clearly she was comfortable with the cadence of her words, for she showed no hesitation in speaking or chagrin that her speech was low.  There was no inkling of Scots left in her accent at all.  It was most odd.

“I ha’
a question, if I might be so bold to ask it,” he began hesitantly, wondering if he might be willfully destroying their truce by what he was about to say.

“Shoot.”  She took a sip of her wine but glanced up at him when he remained silent, a slight frown puckering his forehead.  “That means go ahead.  Ask away.”

“Yer speech patterns are most odd,” Connor offered and watched her brows rise in surprise.  “I mean no offense,” he assured her quickly not wanting to prompt a fight between them.

“None taken,” she said drily.  “And?  There has to be an ‘and’ there.”

“And, I was wondering if all Americans speak as ye do.”

“What is wrong with the way I talk?”
Emmy inquired.  “I realize that it isn’t as melodic as your accent, but it is easily understandable whereas there are some people here who are barely intelligible.”

“It is
nae yer accent, in itself, that I am asking about,” Connor corrected, hedging a bit.

“What is it then?”

“It is more the way ye phrase things, the euphemisms ye use.” He tried to explain.  “The way ye say things is most unusual and often confusing.”

Emmy understood
instantly.  “That’s American slang for you, honey,” she drawled saucily in her best southern accent. 

“Slang?”

“Yes and I know you know what slang is even if you don’t understand the word.  Slang is a word or saying that is taken from pop… well, popular culture of the times to describe something else.”  The definition was easy but she searched her mind for an example from his time.  She snapped her fingers a couple times as she racked her brain.  Aha!  “Like rack your brains!”  She smiled in triumph.  “You know that one, I bet.”

“I am familiar
wi’ the phrase, aye.” He nodded, wondering where she was going.

“Well, you are not actually putting your brains on the rack, literally, right?”

“Right,” he agreed. 

“That saying is like the slang of the medieval ages.”

“Like ‘drawing the line’, for example.” Connor nodded again.  “I see.”

“So the way I talk is merely the result of the age and culture in which I live,” Emmy explained.  “You see?”

“I do,” he considered for a moment.  “It is unusually colorful, yer slang.  I ha’ wondered also about yer use of profanities.  ‘Tis most unusual for a lady to curse so often.”

“I d
o not!” Emmy protested, looking honestly surprised. 

“Ye
do,” Connor argued, enjoying the look of dismay on her face.  “Ye have said ‘damn’ and ‘hell’ on many occasions since arriving.”

Emmy rolled her eyes
dismissively.  “Well, that doesn’t count.  I mean, everyone uses those words all the time without even thinking about it.  Shit, too.  People say that so much I don’t think it even counts anymore.  ‘Oh, shit!’  ‘Holy shit!’” she exclaimed, not batting an eye as he stared at her in astonishment.  “People say that all the time without thinking twice.  But I don’t
really
swear, you know?”

Connor was again torn between amusement and shock as he listened t
o her explanation.  “What do ye consider ‘really swearing’?”

“Well, I don’t take the Lord’s name in vain if I can help it
, and I try very hard not to use the f-word,” she responded defensively. 

“The f-word?” he questioned.

“Oh, I know you know the f-word!”  She flourished her finger at him.  “
Everyone
for hundreds of years has known that word.  Women generally dislike it as a descriptor for… well,” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “sex.”

“Ah
, that word!”  Connor threw his head back and laughed.  “Ye dinnae like that word and what it implies?”

“Tends to s
uck the romance right out of any situation,” she sniffed and turned her head away from him in annoyance, feeling that he was making fun of her in some way.

Connor seized the moment to lean in
and whisper in her ear.  “Would ye rather make love?  When ye get all hot and sweaty and come apart in my arms, will calling it ‘making love’ be enough to describe all we will feel together?” 

He traced a finger down
the back of her neck.  She gasped and stared up at him.  A shaft of lust shot through her.  Her hand began to shake and Connor took her glass from her before she dropped it, setting both their glasses on a nearby table. His eyes dark with desire, he turned them away from the others in the room and looked down at her with that hot gaze. 

“When we come together,” he
continued in his low brogue.  “Dinnae ye want me to fuck ye, lassie?”  She gasped as he said the word, her lips parted and as shiny as if she had just licked them.  He wanted to kiss her badly.

Emmy gasped as the
word came out with his accent nearly rhyming with ‘book’.  With that intonation, the word lost all offensiveness.  Instead she quivered inside. Still, closing her eyes in denial of the word, Emmy shook her head despite the heat that was rising within her.  “Or,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear, “do ye want me to make love to ye?”  He drew out the last four words with his deepest brogue and Emmy’s legs nearly collapsed under her. 

Cl
utching his arm, Emmy savored the images that flashed behind her closed eyes.  She swallowed thickly and took a deep, shuddering breath.  “Oh, Connor.  My God!” she whispered hoarsely.  “What you do to me.”

“If it’s anything like what ye
do to me, then we’re in trouble,” he guaranteed.

“I always thought that having ‘weak knees’ was just a euphemism,” she admitted
breathlessly, “but it’s really true.  Sometimes I can barely stand when I am around you.”

His dark eyes grew molten at her confession.  “And sometimes parts of me sta
nd too much when I am around ye.”  His voice was low and gruff, but Emmy understood his meaning only too well.

“Yup, we’re in trouble,” she confirmed
. She took a step away from him and reclaimed her wine, taking a long drink and fanning herself with her hand. She noticed Dory and Ian approaching and smiled, thankful for the distraction.  “Dory, you are looking so much better!” she enthused, perhaps overmuch.

Dory blushed and smiled
, running a hand over her large stomach now unfettered by the corset and covered with a much more suitable gown that was cut with several large pleats in the front to allow for her girth.  Truthfully she now looked huge in comparison to her appearance just hours before.  “I feel better,” the woman confessed.  “The babies have been carrying on all afternoon.  I had never imagined it could feel like this!”

“Wonderful, isn’t it?” Emmy grinned.

“Very much so now that I understand it,” the woman said, her eyes bright with joy.  “Truly I wish you had come much sooner so I might have had a greater appreciation of what has been happening.”

“I’ll remind you that you said that when your ankles are so swollen you can barely walk and your back is killing you,” Emmy teased.

“She already has been doing that,” Ian said playfully, earning a swat from his wife but he just kissed her cheek, causing a blush to rise in Dory’s cheeks.  Connor looked on in amazement.  Who would have thought Dory could unwind enough in public to allow a kiss from Ian without scolding him roundly for it?  It was astonishing.

“I want to thank ye
as well, my lady,” Ian continued, taking Emmy’s hand earnestly, “for everything ye ha’ done for us and for our babies.”

“
And I thank you for the beautiful gown, despite the blackmail which accompanied it, but truly, I have done nothing,” Emmy protested.

“Oh, but you have!” Dory
argued, taking Emmy’s other hand.  “We both feel like you’ve made such a difference for us since you’ve been here.  I can’t believe it’s only been a few days!  It’s almost like truly having a sister again.”

“Well, thank you,” Emmy murmured but Connor’s head was spinning.  What did Dory mean by that?  ‘Almost’ like having a sister?  Again?
Surely it was just a turn of phrase?  Perhaps they hadn’t been close before Heather left?

“I am just happy I can help,” Emmy offered
, unaware of the confusion that had staggered Connor’s mind.

“I do hope that ye will be here to help
wi’ the delivery?” Ian asked.  “We would nae ha’ it any other way.  Please say ye’ll stay?’

“Please, say you will,” Dory echoed.  Emmy looked up at Connor with a questioning glance
, wondering at his opinion of their plea but he was staring at Dory, a frown again creasing his brow, tapping his lips with a considering finger.  He looked puzzled and Emmy wondered at the cause.

Di
dn’t he want her to stay now?  But perhaps this was the reason she was here!  Maybe this was the whole point of this… this journey she had taken.  In her past, maybe Dory did not survive the birth.  Could that be it?  Was that something like - heaven forbid - God’s will that she come here to this time and place to save a woman’s life?  Oh, she wanted to run up to her room and flip through her guidebook immediately to see if there was any mention of this family in particular.  Why hadn’t she thought of that before?  Perhaps it was all there!

“My lady?” Ian questioned
, nudging her back to the moment.  She started with a smile.

“I would be delighted to
help in any way I can when the time comes.”

“Thank you!” Dory smiled again and even reached over to hug her briefly.  Emmy was startled but returned her embrace. 

“Ahh, there is Chilton to call us for dinner at last!” Dory announced.  “I for one am famished!  Shall we?”

Ian held his arm out to his wife and they all looked at Connor expectantly.  Connor
however was lost in a study between Heather and Dory as he looked back and forth between them.  They were the same height, same build.  Dory’s current condition aside, Dory had always been as slim as his Heather.  Their features were identical, same mouth, nose and bright blue eyes.  The smile currently lingering on Dory’s face made it almost impossible to tell them apart, whereas her habitual scowl had made the difference before.  Heather’s hair was a bit lighter with streaks of blond, and she had those long sweeping locks in the front, but other than that, they were the same.  Absolutely the same.  They had to be twins!  There could be no other explanation.  But the way Dory had said ‘almost’.  It was eating at him, this curiosity.  Why would she have said that?

“Hello?” Emmy sang
, wagging a hand in front of his face.  “Earth to Connor, are you there?”

Connor blinked and stared down at her
questioning expression.  “I beg yer pardon?”

“You were lost in space there for a minute,” she teased.  “Welcome back.  Did you have a nice trip?”

“What?” he questioned. His brother and Dory laughed lightly.

“Dinner, Connor,” Ian reminded him
, slapping him on the back.

“Aren’t you going to
escort me in?” Emmy asked, taking his arm.  “It is, like, your job, you know.”

“Of course,” Connor put a hand over hers and led her from the room as the others trailed behind him.  Clearly they had all been waiting for him to come to his senses.

“What were you thinking about?” Emmy asked curiously.  “Because you were completely zoned.”

“Zoned?” he asked.

Emmy whistled and fluttered her fingers away from the side of her head.  “Gone.”

Indeed,
he had been gone for a moment, he conceded, distracted by the impossible confusion of his thoughts.  “It was nothing, just business.”

“Ahh, the old
‘just business’ excuse,” she teased as he sat her again to his right, leaving the seat on the end once again vacant.  This time Dory didn’t seem to mind as she seated herself next to Ian.  “What kind of business?”

“Uh
,” he floundered.

“Ye know, laird,” the old man sitting on Emmy’s other side leaned in
. “I ha’ been meaning to ask how the market went this year.”

“The market?” Emmy questioned
, looking back and forth between the two men.

“Aye,” the old man continued
in his gravelly tones.  “The cattle market in Glasgow.  How was it?”

Emmy looked again at Connor who seemed taken aback to be
directly addressed, but she nudged him and gave him an encouraging nod.  “Go ahead,” she mouthed.

“Well, Uncle Innes,” he cleared his throat. 
Ah, Emmy thought, Great-uncle Innes - that was it!  His grandmother’s brother.  “We took almost four hundred head in this year.”

“You raise cows?” she asked.

“Only the best beef cattle in all of Scotland, lassie,” Innes corrected in his gravelly tones.  “Best there is!  Lad here has more than tripled the herd these past five years.  Sheep, too.  In my day, we dinnae raise a third of what the laird does now.”

“Really?”  She turned to Connor and nudged him again with her elbow.  “Tell me more.”

Connor cleared his throat again hesitantly but it wasn’t long before he was actively engaged in conversation.  Soon most of the men at their end of the table joined Innes in the discussion.  .  The lively, multi-generational exchange soon had those seated at the other end of the table looking on in amazement as they watched the laird laugh with his kin.